I Speak Woman

When my husband announced to his family last week that we're expecting (he did actually use the term 'we,' which I plan to tease him about until the day I deliver since 'we' are no longer doing anything to make a baby together, it is me with the sore back, the achey bobs, the 9 p.m. bedtime. ME! ME! ME!!!

But I digress. The first person to make a comment did so by first looking at my stomach and then looking me up and down.

"I already thought so,'' said the aunt.

Later, she told me she thought I was pregnant because I was "glowing" but I speak woman and I speak fat. She was looking at my stomach and she didn't like what she saw.

I won't be able to look at a single picture of that day.

I am ten weeks pregnant and I do not yet show but I am feeling uncomfortably pudgy. My clothes still fit, but do they? Am I not muffin topping my way through them and over? It's the same feeling I get every time i gain weight and outgrow my clothes, except this time, I'm starting to outgrow my fat clothes.

Now this will come as a surprise to probably every pregnant woman out there, hell, every woman out there:

I do not like getting fat.

It's true. I don't like stealing glances at myself in the mirror in Pilates and see a bludge of pudge rolling over my waistband. It's not inspiriring. I'm hoping that when I start to show and have a cute baby bump to rest my hands on, this will matter less. Right now, I feel 30 weeks of self hatred coming on.

The other thing?

I am starving.

Like really, really hungry. And I want to make sure the baby gets what it needs.

Ah, the battle over my child and myself begins.